Kael reached Hollow Hill by nightfall.
The trees thinned near the base, and the air felt charged—like lightning waiting to strike. He found the stone archway hidden behind thick roots, just as the letter had described. Most of it had crumbled with time, but the symbol carved into its center matched the glowing mark on his wrist.
He placed his hand on the stone.
It pulsed with heat, then cracked open with a groan, revealing a narrow path spiraling downward into darkness.
He lit a torch and descended.
The air grew colder with each step. Moss clung to the walls. And then, suddenly, the tunnel opened into a vast underground chamber—silent and untouched.
Books.
Hundreds of them. Stacked in leaning towers. Shelved along walls. Scattered across stone tables. Their pages glowed faintly, as if they breathed.
This was no ordinary library. It was alive.
Kael wandered between the rows until one book pulled at him—ancient, bound in leather etched with flame. As he opened it, the mark on his wrist brightened.
The book didn't tell a story.
It remembered one.
It whispered names, places, and a word lost to time.
Flamebearers.
And then, somewhere behind him, a shadow moved.